


i fly like paper, get high like planes

by portions_forfox



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, commentfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portions_forfox/pseuds/portions_forfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has a defense, and it’s a good defense, and it’s that it was almost an accident. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i fly like paper, get high like planes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [magic_knickers](http://magic-knickers.livejournal.com)' prompt at [genderswap ficathon](http://rumpledlinen.livejournal.com>rumpledlinen</a>'s%20<a%20href=) @ LJ. Her prompt was **twilight** | girl!jacob/bella + pre-breaking dawn (for my sanity) | _best friends forever or something like it_.

Jacqueline Black is sixteen years old when Bella finds her. Sixteen years old. Too young to drink, too young to vote, barely old enough to drive. This is something Bella has to remind herself constantly. Sixteen.

And it’s not as though Jackie can boast a maturity much older than her age—she’s brash, and beautiful, and a little bit boy-crazy. She winks more than she breathes and her hair is long, black, tangled. Billy likes to say she is his little Quileute princess, looks just like their ancestors, looks just like Q’wati’s wife with wild hair flowing fishing salmon on the river Q’wayi’t’soxk’a.

She’s a funny thing. She braided Bella’s hair once, rocking on a white porch swing out in the settling dusk; she said, “You know why I’m here?”

Bella closed her eyes, breathed in deep—the ocean isn’t too far off, salt waves and cold wind. Leaned her head back onto Jackie’s shoulder. “No,” she said. “Why?”

Jackie laughed and it was soft. “To fix you.”

 

 

There are holes in Bella’s memory, things she cannot seem to fill in. Her father has told her about the months she spent holed up in her room, out in the truck late at night, out in the woods alone. She doesn’t remember. He’s told her about her sunken eyes, her greasy hair, her lips unsmiling. She doesn’t remember. She says she doesn’t remember much after Edward. He says she doesn’t remember much before Jackie.

Bella thought there was nothing in this world that could pull her out of wherever she was, whatever black hole it was that consumed her. Pain, pain she could overcome. But this nothingness—this _nothingness_ she felt, this numbness, this complete lack of empathy for any facet of her life—she couldn’t face that. She thought she’d become incapable of caring about anything at all.

Here is Jackie: big eyes, long legs, wide grin.

She cares about that.

 

 

Jacqueline invites her to a New Year’s party she’s throwing at her house and Bella comes and Bella hates it and Bella ends up laughing with just Jackie in the corner. The Christmas tree is still up and the amber lights are on, faces swimming before them in the dark while Bella’s eyes droop closed near midnight.

“Bells,” Jackie says, and she sets down her champagne. Bella says, “Hm,” feels Jackie shift her legs closer, warm skin. “Let’s get out of here.”

Bella’s eyelids flick up. “Jackie,” she laughs. “Jackie, this is your party.”

Her legs are across Jackie’s lap, Jackie’s toying with the fuzz on her warm Christmas socks, fingernails brushing her bare ankle. “They won’t notice,” Jackie says, eyes twinkling at bella, half-sided smirk. “That’s why I got them all drunk.”

Bella smiles, her eyes growing droopy again. “You don’t have to leave just for me,” she hums. “I’m capable of driving myself home.”

“Come on,” Jackie drums her fingers on Bella’s calf. “I want to.”

Before them the voices count down, the TV tuned into New York City a hundred thousand miles away, _ten_ , _nine_ , _eight_. . . 

“Why?” Bella asks.

“Because,” Jackie’s voice is lilting, her laugh is warm, her face is gold in the Christmas tree lights and the shadows of the dark on the porch outside. _Seven_ , _six_ , _five_. . . “That’s what friends do.”

Bella’s face blanches. Her throat feels heavy. “Jackie,” she says, her wavering voice, _four_ , _three_ , _two_ , “You’re my best friend.”

_One_.

Jackie slides Bella’s feet off her lap, stands up, offers her a hand.

“I know that, silly,” she says.

 

 

Jackie falls in love with her.

She tells Bella the way she tells her everything, the way she told her she is a werewolf, with her half-smirk and her long hair and her twinkling eyes, begging for something, hurting for something behind.

Bella goes for the first excuse, the easiest excuse, the least complicated one she can find. Because everything, everything now is complicated. 

“I’m not gay,” she tells Jackie.

Jackie laughs, her head falls back. This time it’s not so untainted; her eyes aren’t so twinkly when she looks at Bella.

“Christ,” she laughs. “Neither am I.”

 

 

Bella almost kisses her, once. And she has a defense, and it’s a good defense, and it’s that it was almost an accident. Almost.

This time it’s in her kitchen, and they’re washing dishes as the sun goes down and listening to the radio spouting _conflict in the Middle East_ and Jackie is just so much _taller_ than Bella and Bella hands her a plate and Jackie takes it in her hands and is towering over her in one split second and Bella looks up and Jackie’s hand is in her hair, her eyes are big, young, innocent.

“You’re sixteen,” Bella breathes, and she closes her eyes, a different excuse this time.

“You love me,” Jackie says, and doesn’t kiss her, and doesn’t kiss her, and doesn’t kiss her. And Bella thinks, _What a funny thing she is_ , and nearly dies to keep from stepping closer.

 

 

Edward comes back, and _Bella_ comes back, and he says, “You won’t go back to the rez anymore.”

Here is the rez: salt waves, cold wind, sixteen.

She cares about that.


End file.
